


How Beauty killed a Beast

by Dancewithknives



Category: overwatch
Genre: A - Freeform, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler is an Angel, Beast - Freeform, Beauty - Freeform, Erh, GERD - Freeform, Homer - Freeform, Horizon Lunar Colony (Overwatch), Junkertown (Overwatch), Killed, Muh, Not, Post-Fall of Overwatch, REEEE, The Odyssey - Freeform, how, its, shipfic, the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancewithknives/pseuds/Dancewithknives
Summary: Although Overwatch has fallen, a team of three previous members brave the wasteland of the Outback to recruit a prospect which has been out in the wild for too long.Check out my new coverart here:  https://www.deviantart.com/dancewithknives/art/How-Beauty-Killed-a-Beast-Cover-and-Index-793042095?ga_submit_new=10%3A15547777585 chapters total.





	1. Chapter 1

How Beauty Killed a Beast

 

A man who has been through bitter experiences and travelled far enjoys even his sufferings after a time

  


-Homer

  


The first permanent Human Society outside of the confines of Mother Earth was on the Moon. Going by the name Horizon, the lunar colony was designed in a way that facilitated eventual expansion and growth, for although scientists and Astronauts only lived on the Moon’s surface, the plan was to eventually grow and allow civilians to call Luna their home as well.

  


That was before the genetically modified gorillas revolted murdered all of the humans aboard the colony.

  


Inside of the genetics lab, behind the door of Dr. C. Hammond, all was still. Although the office was in disarray, it was only partly caused by the murderous primates. The office, with smashed decorations and littered with glass, was not all a disaster by wanton and brutish destruction. On the contrary, the other half of the mess in the room was easily identifiable as the disorganization caused by genius-in-progress. 

  


Along one of the side walls of the room was a tiny ventilation shaft. Although uninteresting alone, it wasn’t until the screws on the vent cover began shaking and turning that the grate fell over, revealing a tiny animal inside.

  


What came out of the vent was Mammal of the Rodentia order, standing only a few inches tall and being covered in light yellow fur, better known to the common man as a “hamster”. Like a tiny spacesuit, the hamster wore a jumpsuit with the number “8” on it as it dashed outside the vent and up the color tubing on the floor that lead up to the desk. Subject 8, much like the other animals at Horizon, was not a normal Hamster, but instead had been enhanced with genetically improved intelligence. Once on the desk, he scampered across his workstation and blueprints to the far end. 

  


He hadn’t much time. Like one of the other test subjects, he had decided to escape this fallen city and head back to Earth, but as he awaited to be free of this hellhole, he felt torn, and needed to come back for one last thing.

  


On the end of the desk, near the personal computer, was a framed photo, and in said photo was the picture of an old human woman with silvery white hair. Occupying the frame with her was Subject 8. 

  


Doctor Cynthia Hammond was the one who had blessed Subject 8 with his brilliance, and although he wanted to leave this place, he couldn’t go without at least taking her memory with him.

  


Subject 8, or “Hammond” as he was called, may have been made as a joke, but that did not change the good things that the doctor had done for him. As she worked, or when he needed a break from his advanced trigonometry, he would often stand on his hind legs on the desk and simply look up at her, mesmerized of how the lights behind her turned her hair gold and looked as if she had a halo around her. In that moment, she look less like a woman and more like an angel, the deity that had graced him with the gift of his intellect, and he her sole worshiper.

  


But that was long ago. Now, Cynthia Hammond was floating out in the void of space, beaten to death by rampaging Gorilla after she used her final moments getting Hammond into the vents.

  


If he stayed here, he would inevitably be killed, so the best way to honor her final act would be to survive, and the only way to do that would be to get off the Moon. For as close as he was to escaping, he knew that he couldn’t leave without taking something with him.

  


Toppling the frame onto its front, Hammond got to work unlatching the back to expose the photo. But no sooner that the hamster opened up the trap door, a crash filled the office. A chair from the cafeteria had been dragged down the hall from where it belonged and was thrown through the glass window separating the office from the hallway, and as soon as the way cleared, a massive Silverback Gorilla stepped through the opening. 

  


Moving as fast as he could, Hammond ripped the photograph out of the frame and bit down on the corner. Craning his neck up for the picture to not trip him, Hammond sprinted on all four with his prize in his mouth as he ran for the vent. 

  


Try as he might, he wasn’t even close to the small opening when the big pursuer scooped him off the ground. The big ape brought him up to his face and, with only a little bit of his primal strength, began to squeeze the tiny mammal.

  


Only able to make a tiny timid squeak, Hammond cried out with pain as his insides were pushed together. The force was so great that he felt as if he were about to pop, his cries of agony caused his mouth to open and let the picture fall from his mouth.

  


Knowing his life was about to end, Hammond fell to his last resort, and amid his cries of pain, bent his head down and bit hard into the Gorilla’s leathery hand. 

  


It worked, and the hamster was dropped several feel to the ground as the Gorilla used its free hand to nurse the big bite wound in on the side of his digit. 

  


Not giving it a second chance, Hammond retreated into the vent, where he looked back. From the safety of the vent, he saw the bounty that he had nearly lost his life over wrinkling underneath the foot of a 500 pound gorilla, and although he wanted to wait the beast out, he reluctantly had to turn around and return to the hanger, for he had even less time to get back before his only chance of getting off this lifeless rock was gone forever.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

  


Years Later...

  


It truly was amazing how resourceful humanity could be at times. Although half of Australia had been nuked to stop the Omnics, life still went on, and that meant for all of the inhabitants of the continent.

  


Junkertown, the largest settlement outsides of the shielded new cities, was a prime example that life was a matter of survival of the fittest. Although starting out as a joke, a junkyard owned by the grandchildren of particularly paranoid doomsday prepper, the scrapheap had turned into its own hierarchal and self-sustained society. 

  


Either by agreement or force, Junkertown swallowed up smaller nearby settlements and grew until it finally became the sole authority of this lawless land. That wasn’t to say that everything was fine within the city -far from it actually- but like the Holy Roman Empire thousands of years before, the Queen of Junkertown used bread and circus to keep her subjects behaved.

  


They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and if that was the case, then the ghost of the Colosseum would be blushing.

  


Junkertown’s own battleground, the Scrapyard, was loaded to maximum capacity on this day. But like with the rest of the laws in this badlands, the Junkers within crammed even more bodies into stadium to attend the festivities of the day. They stood at the concourse, they stood in the seat, they even hung from the rafters; they did anything to watch The Wasteland’s favorite sport.

 

 

But as chaos was being prepared up above, down below was a much calmer situation.

 

Made from the pieces of a garage, a doctor’s examination room, and a school gym locker-room, three heroes prepared themselves in the ready room for combat in the arena above.

A man sat on a bench, he wore a pair of tactical cargo pants and a ballistic vest underneath a white sports jacket with the numbers, “76” embroidered on the back. The man, Soldier: 76, was currently loading pulse munitions into an en bloc clip for his heavy pulse rifle that was propped against the bench beside him. His red tactical facemask concealed his identity from most of the rest of the world, only allowing them to know him as a masked vigilante.

 

 

Opposite him was a large mass of blue fur with a tiny set of tools in his massive hands. Dr. Winston T. Gorilla, having secured his rocket boosters and armor, was making one last check up on his electric tesla canon before going to fight above.

 

Last, but not least, was a woman. She had bright blonde hair tied up into a high ponytail with bangs parted down the right side of her face. She was petit, with a very slim build, which was the same case for her armor, white layers of easy flex Kevlar nanoweave under resin plating. She had knee high metallic boots and orange carbon nanofiber triweave stockings and a loincloth as well. Although the question as to who would wear stockings to a battlefield was a rather interesting one, it was the last thing one would think of when the saw her final accessories. Firstly, a pair of metallic wings with bright yellow feathers protruded from her back, folded down as they were not in use. Next, a golden half-halo which connected to her head by air cushioned braces on the sides of her temple. Lastly, the woman stood with a six foot tall staff which was slowly misting a gentle yellow cloud from one end.

 

 

The motley crew of a masked vigilante, armored gorilla and angelic warrior would seem to be as random as a posse could be, but there was one thing that linked them all together, Overwatch.

 

The Organization, although now defunct, had left its members aimless after its disbandment, but after years of wandering the world looking for a purpose, the alumnus of the force banded together once again to make a difference in the world. So it wasn’t glory and fortune that brought former Medical Officer Angela “Mercy” Ziegler, Dr. Winston, or former Commander Jack “Soldier:76” Morrison to Junkertown, but instead, their mission.

 

A red light by the garage door on the far end of their compartment, an old traffic light to be exact, changed to green, and slowly, the door began to rise. The three, as ready as they’d ever be, rose and approached the opening, ready to enter the Scrapyard.


	2. Chapter 2

How Beauty Killed a Beast

Chapter 2

Years earlier…

 

Although each day in the New Outback is a fight for survival, one thing is certain, the nights are still beautiful. When the sun goes down, the lights are off, and the timing is just right, the night sky at the bottom of the world is incredible to behold. If one were to just take a moment and look up, they would be treated to the sight of countless stars dotting the night sky, distant planets doing the same revolutions that they had been doing since the beginning of time, and the occasional comet darting across the night sky.

 

On one day, early in the morning, one such sight to behold was a comet darting across the sky, but unlike before, it kept getting closer, and closer, and closer, until like a piece of a midnight sun, it shot across the outback and crashed into the badlands.

 

After a few hours, the red hot satellite began to cool off, slowly turning black, and when ready, the large black ball rolled out of its crater, unfolding its four spider-like legs and began to walk out of its landing site. When free from the hole it had dug, the top of the quadrupedal tank opened up, revealing Hammond sitting at the controls of the mech.

 

Free from the shielding of his escape vehicle, he looked across the horizon, shocked what was to behold before him for the first time. Gingerly, Hammond climbed down from the helm of his spherical vehicle and stepped on the earth for the first time. The dirt, dry and unpleasant, was strange to feel for the first time. He looked up, seeing the blue sky, and the edges of the horizon all around him. It was frightening in a way to have all of this boundless freedom at once, not only to see that there was more land around him, but for the first time to be able to go there, to be limited by nothing but his own ambition rather than the glass of the Lunar Colony.

 

It was then that he took a deep breath and exhaled, his plan to escape the moon was to use the magnetic grappling hook on his escape vehicle to that one Gorilla’s rocket ship and just tag along as he reached escape velocity. Even for his ingenuity in creating a craft that could survive reentry, he hadn’t really considered what would happen if it failed or what he would do when he was forced to disconnect. The earth was 2/3’s water, and he thought for sure that he would land in one of the oceans before he saw his trajectory was approaching one of the only landmasses in the southern hemisphere.

 

 

“Oi, look at that over there!”

 

Hammond turned, seeing a large truck made from the parts of several other vehicles parked nearby and two humans getting out of the passenger compartment.

 

Hammond scrambled to get back to the operating seat. Luckily, he had installed his text-to-speech translator into his mech in preparation to communicate with the humans here. He was in the midst of typing his greeting when the two men were upon him. The one from before commented, “We ought to make a fortune outta this at the scrap sale!”

 

Hammond then erased his message and prepared to explain that this was not for sale when the speaker said, “there’s a scrawny lil’ rat on it. Scram!” and with a backhand slap, Hammond was knocked from his seat.

 

The strangers accomplice then mentioned, “Look at ‘im. He’s a fat one. We oughta catch it for dinner!” a knife was thrown, and it was only by Hammond’s hamster instinct that he was able to dart out of the way to save himself from being impaled.

 

The man approached to grab his knife once more, and Hammond darted forward, shooting up the man’s leg, into his pants, and as the man tried to swat him off, climbed up between his legs and bit.

 

The man was down, and as he fell, Hammond darted from his tumbling form and dove for his mech, and hit the big red button in the center of the console, causing the automated voice to announce, “Activating countermeasures.”

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

_Present…_

 

In a raised pedestal above the common seating of the Scrapyard, a woman with fiery ginger hair sat in a throne made from old truck tires and welded truck mufflers. Although her clothing still had the wear and tear of the common Junkertown aesthetic, they were clean and still in good condition. Over her clothes, she wore a set of armor made from the melted down scrap of the Omnics that had led to half of Australia being nuked for its own survival.

 

When the time was ready, she stood, raising both hands up and gaining cheers and applause from the junkers all around her. Like the great emperor Ceaser, the woman who commanded all of the Scrapyard to rise was their ruler; their Queen.

 

A microphone was lowered to her, where she took it in her hand and addressed her subjects. “Today, we have a new challenger. A trio of outsiders who think they can challenge our champion.” A round of laughter filled the arena, the queen waited for it to subside before continuing. “Let’s give a warm welcome to our ‘esteemed guests.’”

 

One the far end of the battleground, one of the walls opened, and from there Mercy, Winston, and Soldier:76 entered and were met with proper Australian hospitality through a shower boos and insults.

 

The three surveyed the arena, Soldier:76, from his younger years, looked around and the uneven dirt floor and thought it reminded him of the Monstertruck rallies he used to watch on television when he was younger.  Doctor Winston, upon dodging a beer can heading towards his fuzzy form, adjusted his glasses and surveyed the arena, looking at the wreckage of conflicts past littering the arena. Armored cars, spider tanks, mechanized armored vehicles, all lay dead in the dirt and only partially removed from the conflict.

 

Mercy’s first instinct was to take a step back, performance anxiety beginning to bite at the back of her mind, but like always, she fought her way through it. She was aware that the battles were public events, but she didn’t necessarily imagine that there would be this many people here. But, after coping with the fact that there were thousands looking at her, she then observed the crowd and made a rather startling realization. Putting a hand up to her chest, she said, “be careful where you fire, this place looks very unsafe.”

 

Although quite the understatement, she did have a point. There were no protective barriers, or crash netting, or shields around the arena. The only thing between the combatants in the arena and the crowd in the raised spectator seats around them was air. It seemed that to the people here, the battles in the Scrapyard were worth endangering their lives over.

 

After the jeers from the audience subsided, the queen spoke once more, “Now, time to introduce our reigning champion here to defend his honor.” The crowd began a chant, quietly at first, but then gradually gaining volume. “He’s the half-pint homicider, the breaker of dreams, the beast of the bad lands…”

 

At that point, the crowd became one single, loud voice, filling the stadium with their call of their hero, “Wreck. Ing. Ball! Wreck. Ing. Ball!”

 

“Wrecking ball!”  


The garage on the far side of the arena opened up, smoke billowing out from the inside. A light turned on from the back of the room, illuminating the shadow of quadrupedal mech. Then, a large shadow appeared in the illuminated smoke and walked forward to his weapon of choice. He kept walking, growing smaller and smaller with each step, until he stood next to the spider-tank and looked to be no more than a few inches tall. He climbed up, and as the smoke cleared, a fat and round rodent stood in the cockpit of the battle robot, taking in the applause of his beloved fans.

 

Mercy stood in awe for a moment. Sure, she had been told what their objective was when they entered the Scrapyard, but it wasn’t until she was standing there looking down a hamster that the gravity of it all sunk in.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

How Beauty Killed a Beast Ch 3

 

Years ago…

 

Although the outsides of the new Australian cities were lawless lands, they still held one last semblance of an organized culture; the postal service. From small personal letters to larger packages, people still had things that needed to be moved. There was no guarantee that the freight would be received in the outback or that it would be done quickly, but the overall convenience of having things taken and delivered brought the new government of the country together with the leaders of the settlements to arrange an agreement to continue the service.

 

Although there were many hoops to jump through to have something delivered as well as the service not being cheap by any means, goods and mail would be gathered at the citycenters and then brought out into the outback by private contractors with the protection and permission of the respective chiefs of the settlements. From there, acting in good will and under punishment of their leaders, goods would be handed off to designated “Postmasters” at each settlement to exchange hands one final time before delivering to their rightful owners. It was a very fragile alliance, convoys would be under attack by roving packs of bandits in the blink of an eye and scoundrels would steal at any chance they got, but the ability to request medical aid and goods that could not be scavenged from the remnants of the outback was worth the risk and dangers involved.

 

And that is precisely why there was a mailman walking through the streets of Junkertown at midday. He was wearing a pair of jean shorts and a jean shirt as well as an old mailman’s hat, all of which were showing their age with holes and split ends, but what mattered most was the badge pinned to his chest, giving authority by Junkertown’s queen to this individual and their official office.

 

The mailman walked with a sealed cardboard box in his hands, carrying it before him as he traversed the upper society of Junkertown.  Although their middle and upper class of citizens still lived in squander, their living quarters being made of stacked mobile homes and portable housing units, this was leagues ahead of the tent cities and droves of people who had to live in cardboard boxes. But, for this mailman, there was something about it that just rubbed him the wrong way, the people, all wearing shoes, clothes that weren’t complete tatters, the road that wasn’t just an uneven dirt path, he just couldn’t shake the urge to strap a big bomb to it and blow it all up. But, he couldn’t give lose his composure now. He had a job to do after all.

 

He walked to the second story of the stacked living quarters, and after reading the label on the box again, walked to the furthest unit and stopped at the door.

 

Before he could knock, a red light lit up, and then a robotic metal eye descended and met him at eye level. “Where is the mail man?” the device asked.

 

“He’s feelin’ under the weather.”

 

“Your name for documentation:”

 

The mailman took off his hat, revealing his wild curly hair and receding hairline as he bowed for the robotic servant, “Jamison Fawkes at your service.”

 

“Acknowledged:” the robot said once more, processing and then automatically unlocking the reinforced front door. “Leave the package inside, please.”

 

“Right away, gov!” the courier said, replacing his hat as he stepped inside. He was glad for a moment that he didn’t have to turn around, lest the oculus may have spotted the bloody hole on the back of the jacket.

 

He entered the front door, and immediately after that the metallic secured bulkhead unlocked and opened. The mailman stepped inside housing unit. The first thing he noticed was the incredible amount of lights were on in the room, but it wasn’t from normal lighting fixtures and lamps. On the contrary, the corners of the mobile home were all dark and the windows themselves were sealed. Instead, countless computers and monitors covered every surface of the room, every counter, table, and space that a monitor or tower could fit had a device on it. Each unit was blazing away on whatever function it was directed to, and all of their wires and respective cords were wound up into large braids and lead to different corners of the unit.

 

From their many branches, the final cords of the wire lead up to the ceiling, and finally lead to a window on the far end of the unit. There, they lead down to a 3-D printing unit that was making repairs to the quadrupedal tank in its foundry. It only took a single glance at the vehicle to recognize the hit sensation at the Scrapyard, “Wrecking Ball”, the thing that fell from the sky one day and quickly climbed up the ranks. But there was only one thing that caused more of a stir than the rising star of Junkertown.

 

On the table next to the mech was a small aquarium, inside was a wire running wheel as well as a brand new climate control unit. Sitting atop a pile of pile of wood chips was a fat rodent, sleeping away the fatigue of an all-nighter in the morning’s light.

 

Having inspected the room enough, the Mailman set his package on a table by the door and pulled the taped sides of the box open. Quickly, he glanced over at the owner of the compartment, and seeing that he had not moved, returned to the task at hand.

 

Inside the package were sealed bags of seeds, sunflowers, watermelon, and pumpkin. He pawed past all of them until he found item in question. The mailman removed his hand from the box, and with it pulled a bloody knife. Discarding the Mailman’s cap, Jamison brandished his weapon and crept his way across the room.

 

The man stood at the cage and eyed down at the infamous pilot to the machine that had ruined the fortunes of many at the Scrapyard. With little effort, Jameson popped opened the habitat and stood looking down at the hamster within. If he could pull this off, then he could get into any gang that he wanted, hell, he’d probably get people wanting to join in with his lot.

 

Clearing throat, Jameson whispered, “Cottonmouth sends his regards.”

 

Noticing the sudden breeze, Hammond woke from his sleep and looked up, jumping at the sight of a man with a knife in his house. The assassin reached down, and promptly Hammond bit at the approach. He missed, but caused the killer to recoil back and blindly stab down into the den. The large knife missed, -barely that is- and Hammond sprinted to the tubular opening to his bedchamber to escape. Taking both hands, Jamison lifted the glass cube and hurled the entire assembly off the table, hamster on board.

 

It crashed against the floor, spreading glass all over the compartment and Hammond disoriented as he shook his furry head to stop the world from spinning.

 

Not allowing his target any more opportunity to escape, Jamison jumped for the rodent once more, but fell flat on his face as one of his feet was wrapped around one of the computer cords in the compartment. The assassin jabbed his hand out to grab his target, but before he knew it, the hamster was already at the foot of his mech. By the time his assailant was back on his feet, Hammond had slammed his tiny hamster fist down on the big red button of his Mech, waking Wrecking Ball from his diagnostic check.

 

Present…

 

The gates closed behind the new challengers and the reigning champion of the Scrapyard. With introductions over and the arena sealed, Wrecking Ball sealed up and turned into its mobile orb-like mode and rolled from its starting position.  In response, Jack Morrison and Dr. Winston mobilized for battle, leaving Dr. Ziegler behind them both with her hand up, saying, “Shouldn’t we try-” before realizing the futility of stopping the forces in motion.

 

Wrecking Ball rolled up the hills and valleys of the uneven dirt arena, rapidly picking up speed as the two forces closed in on each other. When he reached top sped, his magnetic grappling hook shot up from the top of his mech, connecting the with one of the metal supports of the arena and swinging himself up into the air.

 

His opponents stopped, watching as the machine went skyward until it stopped in the air. Sparks and the texture of the machine’s force field lit up as the momentum stopped and reversed, forcing its polarity to reverse its energy and projecting it into the earth, landing in the arena and blowing away his three opponents in a shockwave and a big cloud of smoke. The combined voice of the crowd followed in anticipation to Wrecking Balls movements, reaching an apex as the mech hit the ground and shook the earth. It was almost as if he was a maestro and they his orchestra, for after all, they had seen the maneuver many times before. Like a boxer rolling on his shoulders to sneak into an uppercut, this was all the opening moves in the champion’s repertoire.

 

The three challengers stumbled out of the smoke while attempting to regain their balance from the shockwave. Angela Ziegler used her staff to support herself as she held her hand to her head. As soon as she was able to focus, she looked up to find Wrecking ball rolling to the top of one of the hills and unfold into its standing form, beltfed machineguns unfolding out near the operator’s nest as the hamster took control of the joysticks and pulled the triggers.

 

Bullets began impacting the ground before her, making a trail straight in her direction, but before she could even react to them, she was sent down into the dirt, falling into a ditch made from the previous fights in the arena, and out of the way of incoming fire. She looked up, and as she half expected, Jack Morrison was sprinting ahead, his driveby tackle being the reason for her safety.

 

 Hammond’s fire followed after the sprinting man, belt fed machineguns blaring and kicking up dirt with each missed shot. Soldier:76 ran until he was safely behind a large column that had once been the leg of a large spiderlike tank.

 

Wrecking ball hit one of the controls inside his grip on the joystick, causing the bullets to release and the chain fall as another ammo box was lifted and the new laced bandolier was raised to the action. Upon completion, a massive shadow emerged out of the top of the smoke cloud. Hammond looked up, seeing Winston the Gorilla soaring in the air with the assistance of his rocket pack. The Hamster ducked his head down, hatch sealing and extremities retracting just in time for the large mammal to pounce on his vehicle.

 

Although the blow may have been enough to cripple one of the legs of the machine, the quick change into ball form turned the decisive blow into a glancing one, and allowed Hammond to roll away. Not done yet, Winston raised his Tesla Cannon and swung his body after his opponent, shocking the machine and slowly eroding its insulated wiring.

 

Wrecking Ball retreated with the gorilla in hot pursuit, but by following the well-worn trails, hills and valleys of the battle arena, managed to finally gain some needed separation. But just when he thought he was free, Winston jumped once more, his boosters rocketing him into the air and cutting Wrecking Ball off in his tracks. The hamster unfolded his machine once more, stopping immediately and opening fire on the big target as he sidestepped away from dug-in trail. In response, Winston raised his free arm and charged forward, bullets deflecting and bouncing off his armored spacesuit as he got in range for his electrical weapon once more.

 

Once he got close again, Hammond folded himself up once more and began to roll away. At the top of the mound he currently was on, it was easy to roll down hill, get behind Winston before he could attack, and continue wearing away at his armor.

 

But being toyed with did not sit well with Winston, and once he was at the top of the small hill he laid down a device, and immediately after that, was surrounded in an eight meter wide domed force field. Wrecking ball fired, but all of his bullets bounced off the blue bubble uselessly.

 

Although cunning, the challenge did not deter the mechanized warrior, who now rolled around, ducked into the shield, fired, and then ducked out, trading bullets for electricity as the two tanklike fighters fought a war of attrition. Winston’s armor would break, and Wrecking Ball’s shield would diminish. Winston would leverage his massive strength and punch plates loose, and Hammond would ram him with his momentum. Although it seemed like the battle was a stalemate of petty jabs at each other’s defenses, there was more to the spherical vehicle’s movements than random tests of the Gorilla’s wits.

 

As Winston allowed his weapon’s internal batteries to charge, Hammond increased his speed to ram his opponent once more. Primal rage fueling his frustrations at this slow battle, Winston smacked with ball with an open hand, changing its momentum around and wheeling away. Not stopping at an open opportunity, Winston dropped his taser weapon and used both of his hands to lift up the one ton tank above his head and launched it into the air, throwing it towards the spectators and causing the crowd to scream in fear.

 

But, as he had planned, Hammond flew through the air and shot out his metallic grappling hook and attached himself to the metallic supports of the arena and swung around in the air, rebounding right back at the massive ape and bowling straight through him, just to stick his landing, turn, and unload into his exposed flank.

 

“Winston!” called out a voice. Hammond turned in his seat to see the woman from before flying through the air on her wings, and them immediately afterwards be jolted aside as his mech was rocked by a grenade.

 

Wrecking Ball folded back into a ball and rolled away, searching in all direction for the shooter. The scattered hits against his armored chassis hinted at the location of the shooter, shortly afterwards discovered that his target was the man from before.

 

Still taking cover in the lair provided by the ruined spider tank, Soldier:76 fired controlled shots out as wrecking ball rolled around the battlefield, rolling and dodging grazed shots, but being punished whenever he attempted to unfold and return fire. But, like with practiced strategy, kept closing the gap until he was able to circle around the ruined tank like a shark around a stranded lifeboat.

 

Jack Morrison kept firing from inside of his protected position as his opponent kept circling him. Although lacking in significant impact, the shots still rang out as they hit and dent against the metallic hull. But as he ejected the last round from his magazine and inserted another, Wrecking Ball swung through the openings in the legs, just missing the man inside.

 

Soldier:76 ran to the opposite side of the position, only to find Wrecking Ball rolling around outside and preparing for another swipe at him. Soldier dove to the ground and rolled away. Once again dodging his opponent before returning fire. Jack had seen all of this before, he had watched the engagement with Winston on the hill, and as Wrecking Ball became more and more daring with his strikes, a pattern was beginning to emerge, and judging by the cracks and plates beginning to fall off the mech, it meant that Hammond was getting desperate, and when one gets desperate, they get sloppy.

 

Rolling from one side of the tank to another meant that he had to swing around and reenter from the same side in order to keep his momentum. If Jack knew where he was going, then that meant he could line up a shot and inflict critical damage to him. Sure enough, as Hammon rolled through the tank, he shot his magnetic grappling hook around on the nearby leg and swung around, reentering to go back out the opposite side.

 

Soldier:76 pulled a projectile grenade from his bandolier and reopened his under barrel launcher, allowing the old casing to fall to the ground as a fresh round was inserted.

 

He watched as the rolling tank swung around and entered from the left side of the tank at blazing speed, and accordingly, Jack dodged past the speeding ball. But now, as he shouldered his rifle once more, he primed the trigger on his under barrel launched and waited for the big ball to swing back around where he could bring it to a stop with his explosive round.

 

But, what Jack Morrison hadn’t anticipated was that as he studied his opponent, it was likewise watching him, laying a trap and waiting to engage it. Hammond had indeed been making a rhythm to his advanced at his opponent, but as he lie in wait for Wrecking Ball to attach to a leg and swing back in, the mech’s winch hooked to the main chassis of the raised body of the tank, and as such swung above the relic and came back down like a golfer’s swing. The blow connected with the surprised soldier within his lair and sent him careening through the air and landing beside Dr. Ziegler who had finally managed to stabilize Winston’s wounds.

 

Angela Ziegler shrieked at the sudden arrival of her old Commanding Officer, but was more shocked to see Wrecking ball, flying through the air much like at the beginning of their engagement, as the flaming mech reversed its polarity once more and pounded the three opponents below him.

 

 

The crowd, which had been engaged during the entire battle, paused in anticipation as the large dust cloud covered the arena, waiting in anticipation to see what happened next.  Before the dust had settled, Wrecking Ball rolled out of the cloud, and when he was in the center of the Arena once more, unfolded the rolling tank, allowing Hammond to entreat the crowd as they erupted in applause.

 

Never losing faith in her champion, the Queen of Junkertown rose from her throne and summoned the microphone from the rafters. Content to see her subjects pleased, the woman began to speak, declaring, “Well, I think that about wraps that one up. Ladies and gentlemen, your champion, Wre- Whoop!” The woman quickly went silent, seeing another figure forming from within the shroud of dust. Hurriedly, she sent the microphone away to  not call the contest short.

 

The Queen’s gaff silenced the crowd and returned their attention to the battlefield. Sure enough, one person was still left standing on the far end of the arena. While the man was unconscious, and the Gorilla was struggling to stand, as the dust finally began to settle into the dirt Dr. Angela Ziegler stood defiantly against the tide of Wrecking Ball’s ensuring victory. The woman, angelic armor covered in dust and bleeding from a cut on her forehead, stood tall against the hamster inside the mech.

 

Raising her pistol, Angela aimed at her opponent and shouted, “Hammond, stop this. Now!”

 

The crowd erupted in a fit of laughter. On the opposite side of the field, Hammond crossed his arms and laughed from the operator’s seat in his mech. In response to her challenge, he raised a hand up and slammed down on the big red button of his control console, surrounding himself in floating landmines.

 

The crowd kept laughing, Hammond kept chuckling, camera men recording the match for the Jumbotron  at the center of the arena as well as to sell the battle on the internet zoomed in on the woman who challenged the King of the Scrapyard. The woman, brow furrowed, expression steely and impervious to the jeer of the unruly Aussies around her, waited. After a few seconds had passed, the corner of her lip curled up, and ever-so-slightly, she shifter her aim to the left and let loose a single shot.

 

The bullet flew through the air and hit one of the floating mines, causing it to detonate while Hammond sat in the center of his web, rocking the tank aside, causing more mines to activate and immediately explode. The crowd was shocked, sharing a combined gasp as Wrecking Ball was knocked around like a pinball inside of his own labyrinth of explosives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, story will be finishing soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. I was having a new cover made. take a look here: https://www.deviantart.com/dancewithknives/art/How-Beauty-Killed-a-Beast-Cover-and-Index-793042095?ga_submit_new=10%3A1554777758

Ch4

 

Years ago…

 

It was always hard to tell what time of day it was on the moon. Like the far corners of the earth during the most extreme reach of their tilt, days would last for months, and night could seem to last for eternity. The scientists, upon first arrival to the colony, were warned of the oncoming shift and instructed to prepare to the adjustment of the abnormal day and night cycle, but that wasn’t to say that they were at the mercy of Luna’s spin.

 

Through the Horizon Lunar Colony, the ambient lights in all common and recreational areas were set to lighten and dim throughout a 24 hour cycle to give off the illusion of what time the residents should be experiencing to help sew the illusion of normalcy in the facility. Although many of the staff working there would work long into the “night”, it was helpful in creating a brief sense of what time it was.

 

In one of the offshoot offices in the genetics department, the blinds were closed, but lights were still on, and manning the helm of the desk was Dr. Cynthia Hammond. Wearing her normal work attire, she sat before her workstation studying the results of prospective amino acids interacting with protein folds being simulated on her computer. To be fair, the work was dull, just watching a function perform its duties until a simulation report could be generated, a task that was almost as interesting as watching water until it boiled. But, the truth of the matter was that she wasn’t doing it for herself.

 

Beside her on the desk, in a tray with raised edges to keep the contents within from falling out, was her other little pet project on the colony. What had once started as a mild joke and test of their formula before moving on to larger –and more expensive- subjects, her little hamster was diligently working the night away just as he had assumed she was doing. 

 

Hammond, as everyone had taken to calling him, was content in his little tray. Hardly more than two years old, the developing hamster had an improvised diaper on his bottom as well as a food dripper and a dry yellow sponge to keep him company. The dripper held a specialized formula that kept him content as his little body grew, and the sponge acted as his “Comfort mother” in the holding pen for when he needed something soft to lay on or soothe him if he got overwhelmed, but what really held the tiny animals attention was a data pad standing on end and a highschool-level physics textbook.

 

It truly was fascinating how intelligent Hammond had become. Even for scientists living on the moon with genetically enhanced gorillas, few actually believed the stories of how a hamster had learned to read and write at only six months old. It made Dr. Hammond proud, but unlike anyway she had ever felt before.

 

Yes, she knew what pride was, she felt it many times in her life, the first time she get on first base at while playing baseball, getting asked out to highschool prom, and finally standing on the podium as class speaker before receiving her doctorate. But, there was something different about this tiny and hairy rodent, and for as odd as it may have sounded, she thought it was love.

 

Sadly for Cynthia, she had no children. Her interest and pursuits in the field of genetics was spurred by the shocking diagnosis of ovarian cancer early in life. She did what she had to survived, did her damnedest to find a cure, and hopefully ensured that women in the future wouldn’t have to make the decision that she was forced into. But that simply didn’t change what had happened. Although married to a loving husband and satisfied with the strides she had made in the field of science, Cynthia Hammond would never bear a child. Although that guilt had haunted her for decades, this tiny little lifeform had finally brought peace to her.

 

As she pretended to study her computer screen, the old woman slowly dragged her eyes away and glanced her way down at the hamster beside her, watching him as he read from the textbook and then scurried away to the tablet and work out formulas and equations.

 

For millennia, witchdoctors, alchemists, holymen and scientists had sought out the answers to end human suffering, and although barbaric, attempted to transcend their simple human lives and reach immortality. But, for as strange as it was, a barren woman on the moon had finally cracked the case on what was thought to be the impossible.

 

Humans cannot live forever, but that doesn’t mean that the end of life is the same as the end of existence. Offspring, genetics, genes, chromosomes, mutations, memories, lessons, knowledge. That was the key to living forever. Civilization, the things we make, the values we teach are what can live on past the lifecycle of any species. The strongest and bravest Neanderthal still died alone thousands of years ago, but the first man who discovered fire, not even comprehending what it was or what it could do, still lives on within all of humanity in a way. That invention, that discovery, all of humanity takes that simple moment in time for granted whenever they turn on a light, or ride in a combustion engine, or stand in a large building.

 

Cynthia had given her life and effort to the rest of humanity, but she still wanted to live on in her own way, and although she was once haunted by the son or daughter she would never have, sitting at her desk watching as her hamster ran across an old textbook to flip the page, Dr. Hammond was content in knowing that Hammond would be her progeny. The human doctor quickly flipped back to her computer screen, for she didn’t want Hammond to know that she was watching him.

 

Turning the page, Hammond ran off the book and continued his normal path to run around and reach the top left most corner of the book to begin reading once more, but stopped mid-way along and paused at the center of his book.

 

He looked up at the monolithic woman before him and gazed upon her majesty. Like the portraits of Saint Mary, the ceiling lights in the room lit up around her, turning her greying hair gold and creating a halo around her. All he could do was stare in a sort of dumbfounded way at the great fortune that she had granted him. Although he was still young, he understood what he was, what she was. He recalled his early life, the beast that had spawned him, but he was different than the one who had birthed him and his siblings. This woman, or more appropriately, this goddess before him had granted him the gift of knowledge like Athena bestowing nectar on her most devoted worshipper. He knew that he had not been born of her womb, but he had been made from her power, and as such he looked upon her as a mother.

 

His studies were not done out of discipline, but rather, out of a debt that he didn’t think that he could ever repay, and for that matter, an indenturing that he didn’t think he would even want to be free of.

 

She turned, casting her gaze down on him and slowly reached her hand over, patting him on the head with a finger and slowly scratching him around his ears. The hamster reached his paws up and embraced her finger, nuzzling it against his cheek, sharing the moment as prophet and disciple, mother and son.

 

But, no matter how genuine their feelings were in this moment, the perception of the two were just an illusion. Dr. Cynthia Hammond was not divine or omnipotent, she would not foresee or prevent her demise at the hands of the rampaging primates, nor could she know the monster that her innocent hamster would become. Yet, even if she did, it wouldn’t change how she felt in this moment.

 

Cynthia joined her two hands together and cupped them around little Hammond, lifting him up and bringing him before her, her head blocking out the florescent sun.

 

“Ham-Ham,” she asked, “would you like to go for a walk?”

 

Hammond nodded his head and squeaked in approval. In response, the doctor brought him to her chest and placed him in the breast pocket of her shirt. Hammond popped his head out and wrapped his paws around the opening of the pocket, watching as she stood and pushed her chair in.

 

He then let go from his perched and slid into the pocket, turning around and then squeezing himself against the warm body of his mentor, placing his ear against her chest and listening to her heartbeat.

 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Present…

 

Drunkenly stumbling around on his hind legs, Hammond staggered out from the insides of his tank’s shell, mindlessly walking towards the light coming in. Upon reaching the opening, he leaned his weight against it and stood for a moment to reorganize his thoughts and clear his mind.

 

His shellshock wore off after a moment, and as he focused, he realized how much trouble he was in. How he was bested could be explored at a later time, but for now he had to get away before it was too late.

 

When one was defeated, their fate was left up to the Queen’s mercy, and as with the reputation he had built, he expected to receive no quarter. Force only answered to force, sparing the weak and eliminating the strong is the only way to remain at the top of the hierarchy in the Scrapyard. He didn’t accept his fate, but he knew that if he stood and faced judgement with dignity, then this was what he would deserve.

 

Hammond poked his head out from the carcass of Wrecking Ball and looked around. Debris was still in the air, and parts of his mech littered the area around him, but to his luck he didn’t immediately see anyone.

 

He crept out from his hiding spot, keeping his head on a swivel for any threats. The coast looked clear, but he needed to get away and find somewhere to hide.

 

As soon as he was clear of the chassis, he heard the sound of metal scrapping through sand, and darting around in wide eyed horror, he found the one who had destroyed his mech. The woman probed through the metal shell like a monkey that had just smashed an oyster open against a stone in search of its soft insides, and upon locking eyes with the soft fuzzy rodent, said, “There you are!”

 

Hammond turned tail and ran, darting off as fast has his legs could carry him.

 

Angela, on her knees as she rummaged through the wreckage, let go of the hunk of metal and shot a hand out, reaching and wrapping her fingers around one of Hammond’s short stubby legs.

 

The hamster fell flat on his front, getting a face full of dirt. He turned to his side, watching as he was pulled towards the much larger mammal. Her other hand came forward, but before it could reach him, Hammond lunged out with his enlarged teeth, biting at the approaching digits.

 

The threat of a bite bought Hammond another second, but before he could make another attempt at escaping, an erect finger came and swatted him clean on his nose.

 

“No!”

 

Hammond stopped struggling as his forelegs reached up and cradled his nose. The blow seriously hurt him, and for someone who plays with tanks and machine guns, that was no joke. The pain of the flick even brought a few tears to his eyes. Unfortunately, it was too late when he was finally able to realize what was going on; he was off the ground and in her hands by the time he could focus again.

 

She kept brining him closer, and although he tried to scramble away, he was unable to escape by the time the nest of her fingers finished the collision course with her chest.

 

Hammond couldn’t believe it. After everything that happened: weaponized EMP’s, Frankenstein-esque armored roadsters, Tanks made from destroyed Omnics, automatic weapon’s fire, and several attempts on his life, the thing that finally would end him was being smothered by a set of bare hands. He fought against the wrapping of the human boa constrictor. His tiny hamster hands and feet beat against the easy-flex armored plate, he opened his mouth wide and snapped his jaws to tear at anything he could bite, but all of his effort was in vain. His fists and toes just bounced off the armor, his head butts and bites didn’t have any traction to do damage.

 

He fought, and struggled, and bit, and kicked, and pounded as hard as he could until he was a panting sweaty mess, and at the end of it all, he was ready to accept his fate.

 

But as he paused the fight for survival to breath, he began to notice something was wrong. He was trapped, but he wasn’t being crushed. Even now as he defenselessly took a break to breathe, he realized that he wasn’t being asphyxiated or pressed. 

 

“ _Shhhhh_ …Shhhhh…shhhhh… there there, calm down.”

 

No, this couldn’t be. He had seen sick sadistic traps like this before. She was trying to lull him into a false sense of comfort and then break his neck before he could do anything about it. He had to be ready, there had to be an opening to escape when she finally went in for the kill. He just had to stay still and wait, be patient and hold out to live.

 

But time kept stretching on. He waited, first feeling for the slightest changes to the hairs on his back and even faked a jolt or two to see if she would try to take her chance before she lost it, but no matter what he did the trapping embrace held. Finally, the captive hamster chanced a glance up, and from the shadow of his opponent he made out an eye looking down at him, watching him.

 

“You’ve been alone for a very long time, surrounded by people who just want to fight and hurt you. I know what it feels like to be hurt, to be afraid, to be alone.” The thumbs came and wrapped around Hammond, strapping him to the inside of her palms and then releasing him as he stood cupped in her hands, outstretched so they could see eye to eye.

 

The debris from the day’s festivities had finally settled. After the trials of combat had ended, the ground had resettled and the world continued in its orbit. The sun, at the apex of its height, shined down from the oculus at the center of the Scrapyard’s roof. Although it would have been blinding, the comparative form of this figure towered over Hammond and casted a long shadow down on him.

 

Hammond looked up at the opponent that had finally bested him, and for a moment he couldn’t even  believe his eyes. He fell flat on his tail as tears welled up at the flood of memories before him. One part of his mind recalled the reality of what had happened, the events that made up his final days on the Moon, but he couldn’t care to believe them. He was stuck in a memory, emotions and images colliding at once at what he saw. A titanic woman blocking out the light, holding him gently in her soft hands,  a halo around her head and hair of pure gold. It brought him back to a time he had almost forgotten, to feelings that served no purpose in the Australian Outback, to a mother of pureness and virtue.

 

Holding the tiny tyrannical terror before her, Angela said, “Come with me, and I promise to take you far away from here, where you’ll be loved, where you won’t have to fight anymore and nobody will have to fear or hate you again.”

 

Through teary eyes and the last ounce of his hard earned skepticism, Hammond croaked out in a tiny hamster squeak, “Really?”

 

Smiling, Angela wiped the tear from his cheek and brought him close, holding him to her heart and, whether she understood him or not, whispered, “yes.”

 

With his ear against her chest, Hammond was powerless to refuse as he heard the drum of her heart beating, and a finger scratching behind his ear.

 

For as loud, obnoxious and cruel the audience in the Scrapyard had been, all members were silent. From the pious queen to the tycoons in exclusive seats, the general audience in the stands to the paupers and videographers in the nosebleeders, all held a combined silence at the sight to behold. It was so quiet that a pin could be heard dropping, of boxes of popcorn falling on cracked cement, that one could hear a cotton ball being ripped apart, or even the timid sobs of a homesick hamster crying into a woman’s chest.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

“Oh no, it wasn’t the airplanes; it was beauty killed the beast.”

 

Carl Denham, King Kong 1933


	5. Chapter 5

Ch 5

 

“I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.”

C.S.Lewis

 

What if?

 

Those two simple words had plagued humanity since the conception of language. Hypothesis, anecdotes, plausible denial, rhetorical suggestions, and lunchroom superhero fights all fell under the same umbrella of those six letters.

 

What if?

 

Hammond was no exception to that rule. Day in and day out, when his mind wandered, as he drifted off to sleep, or when he reminisced back to better times, he had to pause himself at that final conundrum.

 

What if?

 

That was the question he had on his mind as he sat in the dark, snuggly seated on top of his beanbag chair in front of his new laptop computer. The dark basement that he found himself in was separated by a portable sanitary wall and sheets of plastic. On one side was its original use as a medical lab, and on the side that he had now claimed was his new workshop. The new section of the basement was far from its old sanitary origins, now with power tools and greasy hardware everywhere, but far from cleaning up his space, Hammond the hamster was busy thinking, his forearm up scratching his chin as he thought.

 

After the shock of his mentor’s demise, he always began to wonder what he could have done to save her, and as he moved on, he occasionally would go back to that same thought. What could he do to save her, what could have been done to protect her, and if given the chance to try again, would he do it? He had tried to push the ideas out of his mind. For as much as he wanted to entertain the pet project, he knew that there was no use, no matter how brilliant his solution would be, it was all just a big waste of time and resources.

 

But, life has a way of changing things when you least expect it, and he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away.

 

As the nearby automated foundry rebuilt broken parts to his mech, Hammond sat on his chair and looked at the CAD image on his screen. Before him was the blueprints to a brand new set of armor, completely designed by hand to be both protective and flexible. Procurement of advanced resources was much easier in the world outside of Junkertown, so draft after draft had been made to optimize the new armor while also including the best of the new technology available. From his design, it was almost perfect, almost.

 

Hammond wasn’t naïve, he knew that there would always need to be tweaks made between design and construction before a satisfying finish product was made, but that was not the issue.

 

His problem lied in the breastplate, between the neck and the lower torso. He stared at the lines of his 3-D model with frustration at the issue he had.  Fluid dynamics was one of the hardest things to anticipate, and for him it had to be perfect, only with the smallest margin for error would satisfy him.

 

He rolled up from his chair and walked to the mouse. He opened his internet browser and flipped over to incognito mode. From there, he went to his favorite search engine before jumping up to the keyboard and typed: gollygeedoctorzee and searched.

 

The search listed the results and as expected, the first option was what he was after.

 

He opened the site and looked at the familiar black background with the website’s title across the top banner along with the words, “The foremost site dedicated to the true queen of Junkertown”. Below the text was a picture, the single moment in time that changed Hammond’s life once more and reset his course.

 

Presented in 4k resolution was a picture of his new host, Dr. Angela Ziegler, hands cupped together and holding him close to her chest. That moment changed his life and kick-started countless fanboys around the world to awaken to a new fetish.

 

He scrolled over to the gallery tab and clicked, entering a treasure trove of the efforts of anons around the world grabbing virtual shovels and digging into the prehistoric internet of fifteen years prior.

 

What greeted Hammond was an image bank almost documenting the life of a single woman. Like a scrapbook, pictures and screenshots from propaganda posters, interviews, combat footage, and moments in Angela Ziegler’s everyday life were pasted to the webpage. Uninterested, Hammond scrolled past the page until he reached a familiar image and paused.

 

As he had seen countless times before, it was a picture of the woman who took him away from his first home on Earth, mid stride with badminton racket in hand, tennis skirt blowing and sweat streaming down her face as she watched for her opponent’s move. The picture was somewhat recent, probably only a few months old now, but it was still one of his best resources for the problem at hand.

 

He adjusted the view on the picture, zooming in on her chest until the resolution focused. Once again, he sat back down on his beanbag and returned to his meditative pose with his hand on his chin. He knew what they were, mammaries of course, but that wasn’t what he was after. What he needed was a means to determine their volume in order to properly adjust his blueprints in the prototype armor he was making. Research into the topic had opened even more questions, and the information he was able to obtain sometimes conflicted with one another, and as for the importance of the task at hand, he would not settle for anything less than the very best.

 

He stared at the picture, racking his brain with ideas, trying to see the one avenue or idea he hadn’t explored yet, but had come to conclusion that there was nothing left that he could do with the resources at hand, and with that, he sighed and stood from his chair once more.

 

In the days prior, he had learned of a new means to find the information that he sought, but he didn’t like it for the unwanted exposure that it brought. But with no other options, it looked like he would have to use his last resort. Starting on this project, he had not anticipated the difficulties he would endure, but as he had learned, making a spherical EVA vehicle to reenter the Earth’s atmosphere was simply physics, but designing women’s fashion was a field of its own.

 

Taking a small nylon rope, he ran to the far corner of his desk to a colored tube that was twice his size. He entered and continued onward, through the hamstertube and into the ventilation system.  He followed through the rainbow colored conduit as it lead up out of the basement and alongside the living room, following through the vent until he exited into a bedroom. From there, he ran to the side of a nearby dresser and climbed the rope ladder up to the top, there he passed by his new habitat and reached the top overlooking the drawers. Turning around, he saw the lamp on the dresser top and determined that it would be an ideal spot to anchor his line and did so, looping it around and tying it tight.

 

Before he returned to the edge, he paused at the nearby framed photographs nearby. The first was of three humans that he didn’t know, one was a woman, the other a man, and finally between the two was a young girl with blonde hair in a dress. It was quite old, already beginning to show its age before it had been placed on this dresser. Keeping that photo company (and within view of his personal den) was a newer framed photo. This one had two humans in it, one wearing a fine black tuxedo while the other wore a white wedding dress. As it turned out, Dr. Cynthia Hammond had left behind a widower, and after a surprise visit, he had allowed the hamster that carried his namesake to take one of his photos.

 

It was still odd for the hamster to wrap his mind around the fact that his mother wasn’t always old.

 

Returning to the task at hand, Hammond let the rope fall and tested its strength. When satisfied, he grabbed ahold and slowly rappelled down the side of the dresser, slipping past the first drawer and reaching the top of the second. Performing a balancing act with all of his extremities, Hammond leveraged his entire body to slip his fingers into the gap of the drawer and use the rest of his muscles to push his weight against the drawer, and somehow, was able to open it up to make a hamster-sized gap.

 

Now, in this secret trove, he rummaged around, not really sure what to look for in the dark until he felt something, and in turn, dragged the article to the opening the forced it through. He then returned to his rope and slid down, landing on the carpet in the bedroom.

 

The garment lie lifelessly sprawled on the floor. It looked like what he had seen on the internet, two cups with four straps around it, but at this point he had to admit that he wasn’t really sure what to do next. He wasn’t sure if taking it away was the right choice or if he should hide it somewhere, but he had to somehow use it for what he needed.

 

He began inspecting the article, and finally he found what he was looking for, a tag. He inspected the label, taking note of its makeup, washing instructions, and finally its size.

 

“39 E”

 

He began massaging his chin once more. This was a good start. Although unsure what it meant, he believed that he could somehow use this code and possibly cross reference it to determine what it-

 

A blood curdling growl filled the room.

 

Slowly, Hammond turned around, and subconsciously began backing up and looking skyward at the massive beast that had snuck up behind him. It had razor sharp white teeth, piercing blue eyes, and an enormous barrel-like body with gigantic muscular legs. It’s hairs, standing up on edge and made it seem even larger than it already was.

 

Not to be intimidated by some feral beast, Hammond shot his arms up and shouted the most vile and vulgar insults that he could conjure, but ultimately made a big fuss of squeaks and hot air.

 

Hardly containing herself at the incredible amount of fun she was about to have, the guardian of the house stuck her tongue out and give Hammond a big lick.

 

And with that, Hammond made a dash for the door while screaming at the top of his lungs. All the while, the monster that his hostess used to guard the house bounced after him, pouncing the ground with both paws as she lead him around in circles for an hour.

 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

Several hours later, a key slid into the front door of the house, and with it, Dr. Angela Ziegler, wearing a teal blouse and dress slacks, walked into her house and was immediately greeted by her big White German Shepherd. She settled Gretel down and gave her the affection that she craved before setting her possessions down and taking her shoes off.  

 

It was strange how exhausted she felt after not actually doing much of anything today, but then again she chalked it up to the fact that lawyers always made her feel slimy.

 

Anyway, she walked through her home to doublecheck that everything was alright, and then made her way to the master-bathroom. She washed off, recomposed herself, and when done exited the bathroom.

 

As she expected, Gretel was waiting for her on the bed, lying down on her front near the edge and crossed in front of her.

She couldn’t count the amount of times that she had seen the sight, but it still melted her heart in affection. She had read the stories before, but she never knew how much love she could receive from a pet like Gretel. It was one of the last things she expected when she set out to find herself a four legged killing machine to watch her house during the day.

 

Only wearing a towel, she approached the big while dog and gave her a nuzzled, scratching her ears and playing with her nose on the bed, but as she did so she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She stopped and approached it

 

On the floor in front of her dresser was one of her braziers. Unless she was somehow forgetting something, all of her clothes were in the hamper in the other room. What was this doing out here? She looked up and saw that her underwear drawer was ajar.

 

She looked at Gretel, and the dog seeing her with the garment in hand, gave out a bark as a means to confirm her suspicions. Glancing from her bra to the animal habitat on the dresser, Angela asked herself, “what is that silly boy up to now?”

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

In the basement lab, Hammond was fast at work using the information gathered from his upstairs excursion to adjust his blueprints. The information was helpful, and with it he was able to make the final drawing up to the blueprints in his CAD system.

 

Still, although he was able to properly determine the dimensions of the breastplate, it left a body of work in regards to what he was going to do with it. He had to decide on if he was going to use easyflex trauma plates like before, or go with Kevlar, alloy plating, or even use force shielding or equipment pouches in the area.

 

As he flipped between screen showing the different options at his disposal, he began to hear footsteps from above him, and with that the sound of someone walking into the basement.

 

“Hammond, dinner is ready.”

 

With the speed of lighting. Hammond began darting across his keyboard, saving his work station and closing down the program and then reloading alternative projects to cover his tracks.

 

“Hammond,” she was at the door, typing in the combination to the lab’s lock, “do you hear me?”

 

One by one, the slides of his new armor design began saving, but the bulk of information being recorded took time, and with the volume of functions being done at once, the PC was being reduced to a crawl.

 

The door opened, and Hammond heard Angela walking across her medical lab towards his section. With no other options left, he jumped on the mouse and minimized the CAD program and turned around, standing up and giving his best “good lil boy who didn du nuffin” smile.

 

Pulling the drape aside, Angela stepped in and said, “Hammond, its time for din- _Vat ze hell ist that?_ “

 

Sweating, Hammond turned, expecting to see that he had left his secret plans up somehow. Instead, what he saw was his internet browser was still logged into Golly Gee Dr. Zee dot com.

 

With wide eyed horror, Hammond screamed at the top of his lungs and ran to the keyboard, closing the web page and flying to his text-to-speech program and hammered down, “I can explain! I can explain!”

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

As she had announced, dinner was ready in the kitchen on the ground floor. Sitting at the table with a brown glass plate, cup of water and utensils was the good doctor, eating an oven baked serving of chicken tenders. On the floor in the corner of the kitchen area was Gretel, eating a serving of adult canine dog food beside a water bowl. Finally, Hammond sat atop the kitchen table opposite of the doctor. He was planted firmly on his bottom, and before him was a simple paper plate. On said plate was a stack of watermelon slices cut into cubes, beside it was a small pile of salty sunflower seeds, some sliced cucumbers, and a bathroom cup full of water. Although it was more than enough as a tasty and healthy meal for the hamster, what was truly on his mind at the moment was his desert. No matter how good the fruit, seed, or vegetables smelled, the room was filled with the smell of cinnamon and butter baked almonds that Angela had picked up from the store and were keeping warm in the oven.

 

Angela casually ate her meal, glancing over to watch the television, but meanwhile the two animals ravenously devoured their food almost as if they had been stranded on a desert island for a week.

 

After Hammond had finished his meal, he bounced his way over to the human woman and got her attention, then began wildly pointing at his empty plate and then motioning to the oven like a crack addict in need of a fix. Seeing what he wanted, Angela did as requested and pulled the tray out of the oven, scooped the roasted almonds out and left them on Hammonds empty plate before setting the tray aside and turning the oven off.

 

Hammond gathered his treats up together into a big heap and rubbed his front paws together, hardly containing himself at the overwhelming smell before him. Without waiting any longer, he picked the nearest nut up and rubbed its length against the underside of his nose, filling him with the cooked goodness within. He opened his mouth and was about to shove the entire nut inside when he felt something him from behind.

 

He turned, and just like with earlier in the day, he found the big white dog right behind him, head up and resting her head on the table, nose nudging him from behind. He knew what it was after, and unlike Dr. Ziegler, he didn’t think it was “cute”.

 

With one hand, he waved it off, telling it to get lost in Hamster. Hammond returned to his food, preparing to devour it once more when he was interrupted again.

 

“Ahem,” Angela cleared her throat, “Hammond, can’t you spare one little treat for Gretel?”

 

“No.” he answered, once again in Hamster. He prepared to devour the treat in his hand when she stopped him again.

 

“Well, if I can’t trust you to be nice then I don’t think I can take you to the proving grounds tomorrow.”

 

Hammond dropped the nut and protested, arguing that the two are unrelated and that this was his desert, but watching the doctor’s unchanging expression as well as the fact that she couldn’t actually understand him, he eventually gave up and threw the first nut over his shoulder.

 

Judging by the snapping of jaws soon after, it was safe to assume that Gretel had caught the offering in mid air.

 

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

Night had set in. Angela sat in her living room lounging on her couch while reading a book to herself. She herself was ready for bed, but she knew the nightly routine, things were not ready yet, and she had to wait lest she disrupt the natural order of things.

 

As she sat silently on the couch, Gretel patrolled the house. The dog checked the doors, the windows, the vent, everything. She walked through each and every room multiple times to make sure that there had been no changes since she had checked a few seconds earlier, and when she was sure that things were secure, she went to the living room and sat before her mistress to report her findings.

 

Seeing the big white dog sitting at attention before her, Angela marked her page and set the book down. Before she stood, she asked, “Ready to go to bed?”

 

Gretel excitedly stood, leading the way to the bedroom and waiting beside the queen sized bed. Angela, as she was supposed to, set the pillows aside and raised the sheets, allowing Gretel to jump in and check underneath the sheets for intruders. When secure, she sat down at the opening and waited for her next command.

 

Angela stood aside and then asked, “Do you want to say Goodnight?”

 

Almost nodding, Gretel hopped out from the bed and landed on the floor. She walked across the way to the dresser and stood on her back legs with her front propped up against the furniture. There, the two females looked into the clear glass cube at the Hamster inside. Hammond, who had already gone to bed, was resting on top of a pile of wood chips and a few cloths, sleeping on his side facing away from the light.

 

The two waited for a moment, and then Angela began with, “Gretel, say ‘Goodnight Hammond.’”

 

The German Shepherd, using dog-speak, gave out a soft howl in an attempt to mock the spoken words.

 

Hammond, drowsy and never being a fan of this silly late night routine, raised his arm and waved them off, mumbling words incoherently in Hamster.

 

Angela turned off the lights and returned to bed. Gretel followed close behind her and buttoned her body up close to her owner. The woman grabbed the sheets and pulled until it was pulled up to both of their necks. From there, she flipped over and prepared to go to sleep, but as she looked out at the dark room, she saw the outline of the livingspace that was on top of her dresser drawers, and after a while, she folded the covers back and slipped out of bed.

 

Keeping the lights off, she slinked across the dark room until she got up to Hammond’s space. Quietly, she popped the top off of the hamster’s den and reached both of her hands in. Gently, she wrapped her hands around Hammond’s plump body draped in rags and pulled him out of the cage. Silently, she brought him up to her mouth and then whispered, “Goodnight, Hammond.” And gave his sleeping head a kiss.

 

She set him back down and sealed the habitat once more before heading back to bed. Although it was too dark for her to see, Hammond lay in his cage facing away from them, smiling in the dark.

 

 

The End


End file.
